


no fear of flying (i know i won't fall)

by wrennette



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Probably ooc, Wargs, awkward boys making friends, but they're little kids, mention of greenseer!Howland but he's not actually present, pretentious titling, so who knows, warg!Eddard, warg!Stannis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8046403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: AU where Stannis has enough Blood of the First Men to become a warg, and he discovers the ability with Proudwing.





	no fear of flying (i know i won't fall)

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I fell down the GoT rabbit hole, and all I really want is Ned and Stannis being besties, because I feel like they would have been awesome friends if Robert wasn't there to bugger things up, so this AU prevents Ned going to the Eyrie because he's a warg, and sends Stannis to Winterfell, because he's a warg too.
> 
> Stannis is ~9 at the beginning of this, Ned is a year or two older.
> 
> This is a man with a goshawk:  
> 

Stannis was alone the first time he flew, and when he came back to himself he was crumpled in the middle of a field, his hands trembling and head aching. Afraid he’d had some sort of fit, and would for some reason be punished as a result, he called Proudwing back to his fist and fit her hood back over her head, then walked slowly back to the keep. Proudwing was getting stronger every day, he was certain of it.

The second and third times Stannis flew, he was alone with Proudwing again. After the third time though, he was afraid to go hawking alone. The fourth time, Stannis didn't fly. The waking dream came, but he was alone and afraid in the dark. The maester said later that Stannis had collapsed in the middle of the courtyard, taken in a trembling fit, his eyes rolled so far back only the whites were visible while Proudwing screamed in the mews.

After Stannis’ very public fit, his parents restricted him to only the lightest of activities at Maester Cressen’s suggestion. Stannis could attend lessons, or read, and if he was supervised he could even shoot. But there were no more rides, no more sword lessons, and no more hawking. Stannis slipped away into the mews when he was able, and Proudwing always knew her master. She would hop over to Stannis, chirring softly, stretching her wings as much as she was able in hopes of taking flight. Stannis could only stroke her soft breast feathers and promise her _someday_ though, and it tasted like a lie on his tongue.

Not long after Stannis’ activities were restricted, Robert was sent away to foster at the Eyrie with Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale. It meant Stannis had to endure a great deal less teasing from his overloud older brother, but Stannis missed Robert all the same. He tried to amuse himself with cyvasse and reading and strategy games, but the fits didn’t stop. And after the fit in the courtyard, Stannis no longer dreamed of flying when he collapsed. It was always dark and lonely, and unseen enemies screaming in his ears. 

Soon Stannis wasn’t allowed to rise from his bed at all. Maester Cressen talked with him gently, and Stannis told him the truth, as much as he could. It was impossible to explain though, how it felt to suddenly be outside his body. All the same, he stammered through a description of how he had flown thrice, but never again, and now when he fitted he was still outside himself, but the freedom of the skies was lost to him. Maester Cressen nodded along, but Stannis was certain the maester didn’t believe him. He’d be labelled mad, if he hadn’t been already.

“It is the Blood of the First Men,” Maester Cressen said decisively about a year after Stannis had been restricted solely to his bed. “I’ve had letters back and forth with the maester at Winterfell, where the Blood of the First Men is even stronger than it is here. The second son, who had been meant to foster at the Eyrie with Lord Robert has the same condition as Lord Stannis. He’s a warg, a skinchanger. He can slip his mind into another creature, direct it. Lord Stark has brought a crannogman north from the Neck for his son, and young Lord Eddard wargs a wolfpup that he has raised from the teat.” 

“A _warg_?” Stannis’ father Steffon Baratheon said incredulously, then looked down at his quiet younger son. Stannis had always been quiet, and thinner than Robert, but now he almost never spoke, and grown even thinner, and pale from lack of sun. “Is - write Lord Stark’s maester, and see if he is willing to foster Stannis, teach him how to control this if it is true. The Stark boy - he doesn’t - he isn’t harmed by it?”

“No my Lord,” Maester Cressen reassured. “I am assured Lord Eddard is quite healthy. He hunts and hawks and trains at the sword and lance like any boy of ten. When he first showed the skill, there were a few episodes like those Lord Stannis has had, but because stories of wargs are so common there, they knew quickly what he must be. The maester spoke of ‘wolf dreams,’ where Lord Eddard at night saw himself wandering the wolfswood that comes up close on Winterfell’s flank, and where he knew his half tame wolf lived. It was Lord Eddard who determined he was a warg, but to the northmen I suppose that must not seem like so strange a thing.”

“Please refrain from speaking of the northmen as if they were unwashed barbarians,” Steffan said calmly, but with firm resolve. “You have just suggested I send them my son.” Maester Cressen flushed, but nodded. “Write the maester at Winterfell,” Steffon sighed. “Then bring my son what books we have of the north, especially any that mention wargs. I care not if they are more fable than fact. I will try anything to see Stannis well.” Maester Cressen bowed out of the room then, and Steffon reached down, smoothing the hair back from Stannis’ forehead.

“Would you like that? To go north?” Steffon asked, and Stannis shrugged halfheartedly. 

“I should like to ride again, and go hawking,” Stannis said quietly. “It - it was Proudwing, wasn’t it?” he asked astutely. “I was watching her, and wondering what it would be like. I wanted so very much to fly, and then - then I was.”

“Oh Stannis,” Steffon sighed. “I will have the bird brought to your room,” he said rather tiredly. Stannis nodded, and for the first time since he’d collapsed, he began to hope. By the time a servant carefully brought Proudwing in, Stannis was practically vibrating in anxiety. Waving the servant off, Stannis gently removed Proudwing’s hood, and almost immediately he was in her head. A bird’s eyes saw the world differently than a man’s, but this time Stannis was half expecting it, and so when he saw himself, thin and wan on the bed, he knew he had warged into Proudwing. 

Stannis could only maintain the connection a little while before he lost consciousness entirely, his mind reverting to his own body and Proudwing stretching her wings happily as she explored the room. Stannis came back to himself to find a servant laying his evening meal on the table next to the bed, and Proudwing perched on top of the wardrobe. Stannis smiled at that, and pushed himself up to sitting. Proudwing shifted and looked about, and Stannis raised his fist in unspoken signal. With a sharp creel, Proudwing glided down to light on Stannis’ arm, and he ruffled her feathers contently.

“We’re a warg,” Stannis confided in the bird, and she cocked her head as if she’d already known. Perhaps she had, Stannis thought. After all, wasn’t it her mind being shunted aside when he slipped into her skin? “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” he asked anxiously, feeding her a piece of his porkchop. Proudwing just looked at him, and Stannis flushed. She’d survived whatever it was that had injured her wing. Sharing her flights with him would be nothing to that.

A moon’s turn after Maester Cressen told them he thought Stannis was a warg, Stannis and Proudwing were headed north. They sailed on the _Windproud_ , the fastest ship in the Baratheon fleet, setting out with the morning tide from Storm’s End. They would arrive in White Harbor, the only port in the north, in about 20 days if the wind favoured them. Stannis didn’t mind the sea though. He’d been sailing and swimming in Shipbreaker Bay all his life until the fits had started, and it was one of the things he missed most, after hawking.

Stannis spent as much time as he could in the sea air as they sailed north. He tried not to warg Proudwing, but once or twice he had flown with her above the waves. When he was in her, she could fly higher, Stannis trusting her strength more than she did herself. And as a result, Proudwing slowly was able to fly farther and higher when Stannis wasn’t warging her. 

Three full weeks after they’d made sail out of Shipbreaker Bay, the _Windproud_ passed under Seal Rock and entered the Inner Harbor of White Harbor. The Wolf’s Den rose ancient and imposing along the eastern shore of the bay, the newer Merman’s Court along the western shore. The twenty odd ships of the northern fleet rode calmly in their berths, their great grey and white sails neatly furled. The sailors of the _Windproud_ tossed lines to the leaderboats and furled their own golden sails, and the _Windproud_ was tugged gently to the docks. 

Stannis disembarked with the guardsmen his father had sent north with him, and was met by a large party under the direwolf banners of House Stark and the aqua trident banners of Lord Manderly, who held the harbour for the Starks. An immense man in a litter smiled at Stannis as he bowed, and Stannis tentatively identified him as Lord Wyman Manderly himself, who was derisively called ‘Lord Too-fat-to-sit-a-horse.’ Next to him though, were a man and a boy in Stark grey, the boy thin and rather gawky with the onset of adolescence. Both had long, thin faces and long dark hair, the man’s face bearing a heavy dark beard as well. Lord Stark, Stannis thought. And Lord Eddard who was also a warg. 

Introductions were made, and Stannis was rather pleased to learn his guesses had been correct. He was even more pleased to learn he would be feasted that night in Merman’s Court. While he wasn’t a great enjoyer of feasts in general, as they tended to be too loud for him, Stannis had never before been celebrated by anyone but his parents, and it pleased his boyish ego to be welcomed so grandly. He was soon shown to a room in Lord Manderly’s halls, and left alone to bathe and put on fresh clothing. Stannis had just finished lacing up his doublet of fine black wool when a tentative knock sounded at the door. 

“Come,” Stannis called, assuming it would be a servant come to fetch him for the feast. The door opened slowly, and in slipped the Stark boy. He wore a grey woolen doublet, with running wolves of the same shade embroidered about the collar. 

“Lord Stannis,” the boy greeted, and offered his hand. 

“Lord Eddard,” Stannis greeted with equal solemnity, taking the offered hand. Stannis was surprised to find himself taller than Eddard; he knew that the other boy was at least a year older than him. Neither of them quite knew what to say next. 

“Would - would you like to meet Swift?” Eddard asked after a long, awkward pause. His accent was very thick, Stannis thought, then chastised himself for being unkind. He had been told that most northmen learned the Old Tongue of the First Men from the cradle, and the highborn only later learned the Andalosi of the southern kingdoms from their maesters. “That’s my wolf,” he explained. 

“I should like that,” Stannis said, telling himself to be brave. The wolf would not hurt him, it was a tame creature, one that belonged to a warg like himself. Eddard nodded seriously, and turned back at the door. 

“Tis a lovely bird,” Eddard said with quiet sincerity. “Someday I should like to fly as a bird.” Stannis flushed at that, feeling heat crawl up his neck and race up his face, burning at his eartips. 

“Her name is Proudwing,” Stannis said rather proudly himself. “I found her injured, and nursed her to health. I think that is why I can warg her, since she trusted me already.” Eddard looked thoughtful at that, and nodded. 

“I raised Swift from a pup,” Eddard said. “She’d been abandoned by her mother, the runt of the litter. I doubt she’d have survived if I hadn’t cared for her.” Stannis nodded, pleased at Eddard’s serious consideration of Stannis’ theory. He’d never spoken to anyone save Maester Cressen about his supposed abilities. They were soon in a courtyard, and a sleek grey wolf, all long legs and big puppyish paws stood, quivering, from near the kennels. “Swift,” Eddard called, and the wolf bounded over to nuzzle like an overgrown hound at her master’s hands. 

“She’s beautiful,” Stannis said quite without thought, and Eddard straightened up slightly, fairly glowing with praise. She was though. Swift was a shaggy grey and white wolf, with golden eyes. Her fur was long and thick, and gleamed with health. “How old is she?”

“I found her about two years ago now,” Eddard said, petting the wolf gently. Stannis offered his hand as he would to a hound, and Swift snuffled curiously at his fingers.

“She’s friendly,” Stannis said with a little surprise. 

“She’s fearless,” Eddard said with a note of quiet pride. “She knows I would never let anyone hurt her. When we go out in the wolfswood, she wears a special collar so everyone knows she’s a wolf of Winterfell.” Stannis nodded, rather liking the idea. He reached up absently, stroking Proudwing’s back where she sat on his shoulder. All his doublets had been modified to have a leather patches on the shoulders and leather sleeves below the elbow so he didn’t ruin his clothing carrying Proudwing about. It made sense that she should have a further symbol of her status beyond the standard jesses that all tamed hawks wore. 

“What’s it like?” Stannis asked rather shyly. “I - do you fit when you warg?”

“I never fit,” Eddard said after a thoughtful moment. “It was the wolf dreams at first, though, so maybe I had fits, but no one knew since I was asleep, and so was everyone else. But I kept dreaming I was swift, running and hunting,” he said quietly. “I’d wake remembering the taste of blood in my mouth, and I’d be exhausted even after a full night’s rest. Old Nan knew though, I didn’t even have to tell her. She just looked at me one morning when I dragged down to the kitchens because I’d slept to late to break my fast in the hall with the others, and by that night father had sent to Lord Reed.”

“Lord Reed?” Stannis asked, his mind racing.

“Our bannerman,” Eddard said. “He holds Greywater Watch in the Neck. The crannogmen are the only ones who still have wargs frequently enough for them to know how to control it properly. Lord Reed’s son, Lord Howland even has a touch of the Greensight.” Stannis blinked.

“Greensight?” Stannis asked, and Eddard nodded. 

“He can dream the future, although he says it isn’t certain. It’s possibilities passed in riddles, and he usually doesn’t know what it means until it’s already happened,” Eddard explained. “He’s our age, just about, well, I suppose I’m a bit older than you, but next year he’ll come north to stay with us as well.” Eddard turned slightly then, looking intently up at Stannis. “I hope we shall be friends,” he said with blunt sincerity, and Stannis nodded sharply. 

“I hope so to,” Stannis admitted. “I - I’ve never had a friend before, save Proudwing.” Eddard blushed at that, and tentatively took Stannis’ hand. Stannis smiled at the older boy, and squeezed his hand gently. Friends. It sounded lovely.


End file.
